She spent a long time examining the backs of her hands, pushing the thin skin into ripples with her fingers. She pondered the dry patch near her left pinky, the one bulging vein near her right middle knuckle. Her cuticles needed to be pushed back, and her fingernails were growing unevenly.
They were like old friends, these hands, and they had done so much to help her along the way. But today they seemed like unfamiliar beings, aliens at the ends of her arms. They spoke of who she had become, a person she sometimes didn’t even recognize.